Molly adjusted the oversized novelty sunglasses perched on her nose, peering over the top of a hedge covered in decorative fairy lights. The target house was a beacon of saccharine joy, a cartoon character balloon tied to the mailbox bobbing in the gentle breeze. Inside, a cacophony of high-pitched shrieks and a thumping bassline suggested a party already in full, chaotic swing. “Right,” she said, her voice a low hiss. “Phase one is complete. We’re in position. The perimeter is secured, visually speaking. And by visually, I mean I can see it and there’s no actual security.” Bill, fumbling with the clasp on a bright pink fanny pack, grunted in response. “I still don’t see why I have to wear this. It clashes with the tactical turtleneck.” “It’s part of the disguise, Bill,” Molly insisted, turning to face him. “You’re ‘Fun Uncle Bill,’ remember? You love piñatas and have questionable taste in accessories. Now, gimme the schematics.” He reluctantly pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the fanny pack. “It’s a napkin from the diner. I drew it while you were in the bathroom. The presents are in the living room, by the fireplace. The main obstacle is a sea of six-year-olds hopped up on frosting and existential glee.” “A negligible threat,” Molly waved a dismissive hand. “We’re not engaging them, we’re bypassing them. We go in through the back gate. The cover of the bouncy castle will provide concealment until we reach the patio doors.” “What if the doors are locked?” Bill asked, a tremor in his voice. “Did you bring the glass cutters?” “Better,” Molly said, a sly grin spreading across her face. She reached into her own bag and pulled out a large, brightly wrapped gift box with a giant bow on top. “I brought a present. No one questions a person carrying a present to a party. We walk right in, place it by the others, and while the parent-of-honor is distracted, we scoop up the rest.” Bill stared at the decoy. “That’s… actually brilliant. But what’s in it?” “A brick and a note that says ‘Happy Birthday, Sorry I’m Late, Love, Grandma.’ It’s the perfect distraction. Now, are you ready or are you going to stand there admiring your fanny pack all day? We have a loot-to-child ratio to maintain, and I plan to be very, very successful.”